Create a Paradise, or a Hell
by LightningHunter
Summary: The fate of humanity rests in human hands, said Seere. They wanted to make a paradise. But the people made it a hell. And Nowe, hardened warrior, will not accept it. Even at the cost of his life. Rated for violence, blood, gore and mentioned rape.Rewritte


Updated AN: After realising this one-shot had so much more to it which did not get across (and due to the fact I'm trying to re-write just about everything, including this), I just decided to re-do some of this where I felt it needed improvement.

The story just seemed too...lifeless, practically no real emotion or whatever, perhaps due to the fact I was trying to watch Tenacious D: The Pick of Destiny at the same time.

Well, really, I mostly just made the fight scene longer. Most of the other stuff you won't notice.

* * *

Old AN: 

Just a oneshot. Mostly because I think Drakengard 2 is incredibly underrated, and deserves many more fanfics. This story isn't funny, nor is it intended to be. Something I thought could have happened after the final ending, the "best" ending.

Note: I refer to Leonart and Arioch's weapons as the Tower of Warning and the Mourning Thorn, as these are the names of the weapons they owned as said in Drakengard 2 weapon history. Most of Drakengard 1 I only know from the Internet, as I only started playing Drakengard the other day after already finishing Drakengard 2- for the sole purpose of knowing the original storyline, and damn, the first game is awful. Every level has at least a thousand enemies, the characters are incredibly slow (despite they can move while attacking, something you can't do in the sequel unless it's part of a combo), they can't jump high, they get stunned with every hit, they can't flip backwards like in Drakengard 2, Angelus's handling is terrible compared to the ease of moving Legna- heck, Nowe could demolish the main characters with ease, but the game does become lovable after a while.

* * *

Nowe's dragon roar echoed over the battlefield, and he stood alone, stationary, his fallen comrades surrounding him, his armour battered and bent, his face and scalp caked with blood. His allies- or what was left of his allies- all stood a distance away from him, in even worse condition, many on the ground, gasping and spluttering, red faces panting and silent mouths requesting water. 

How did it come to this?

After the Nameless and the Holy Dragons died, they - Nowe, Seere, Manah, and Eris- had thought the world could finally have a fresh start.

They were wrong.

Enraged at the abuse they had suffered at the hands of the Knights, nearly all the people went berserk, eager for revenge. They swarmed over the lands, bringing death and destruction with them. At first, their revenge seemed somewhat sane, but day by day, they only grew madder. And this madness they suffered from...was terrifying. They fought with any item, any tool, any weapon. Their wild faces, glaring red or silver eyes, and their complete lack of care they had for themselves was enough to strike fear into even the bravest of Knights. They slaughtered men, raped and murdered women, and gorged on the flesh of the children.

The Knights were hopelessly outnumbered, and peaceful methods had failed. Nowe had no choice but to rejoin the Knights of the Seal- or the Knights, as the Seal had been destroyed- and aid them against the insane people. People? No, beasts would suit them. And thus they were, these insane beasts.

Nowe and his friends had grown extremely powerful, and knew they were capable of destroying armies on their own. But these were far different from any foe they had encountered. When Nowe fought the "traitors", he found them to be an incapable rabble, easy to kill, easy to survive. The Knights focused much more on self-preservation, usually attempting to surround the opponent with numbers, holding their shields high, not striking till they saw a gap in the opponent's defence. But these madmen...no, they were far different. These creatures charged down the battlefield, howling and screaming, monsters their allies, not caring at all for protection, simply attacking.

Imagine the sight. You are a Knight, ready to defend against these madmen. You have been informed that they do not care for defence, choosing to attack only. You know they outnumber your legion at least three to one, but you expect victory. A command is given, and the archers attach arrows to their bows, and the soldiers raise their shields.

And then you see them. Not three to one. They are quite spread out, at least a thousand. They hurtle towards you, and those eyes...the bloody red burns you, and the silver freezes you. The archers fire, and although many are hit, and fall to the ground, dead, the rest continue to charge. Your cavalry force charges at them, but ...all you see is their charge, and suddenly they appear to be swallowed up by the oncoming mass. And before you know it, they smash into your shield wall. A sword suddenly is impaled through a comrade's head, and before you know it, the shield wall begins to collapse. Suddenly, your neighbours are killed, and you are knocked to the ground. You struggle to get up, but you are surrounded, and suddenly, a spear is impaled into your heart.

Despite the fact Nowe hated having to place other people at risk, he knew he could not fight this army of many thousands on his own. With the aids of the weapons merchants that were indebted to Nowe, and the same training Eris had put Nowe through, now with the Knights, they were all well equipped and well trained.

And then suddenly, he received information about where one of their forces were. And the battles began.

Even looking back now, Nowe still did not understand why he had thought it would end after just one battle.

It was war. No seals this time around, but war all the same. The pain of your own injuries, of seing your friends die, and the pain of knowing you are a killer, a murderer. And what had sickened Nowe was that he had relished the blood and fire. He relished gutting them, impaling them, watching their blood seep onto his hands and turn the mud red. He remembered his friends, pleading him to calm down, as he even stabbed the dead corpses. But truly, did it all really sicken him?

The answer, he knew, was no. He was a warrior, a knight, a soldier. He lived for battle. The warrior seeks his death in the battlefield, rather than the painful death in the bed of age and sickness.

He had killed thousands, no, tens of thousands at least by now. Most commonly, he followed the strict logic Legna -the mighty black dragon- had taught him.

"Listen my boy. Don't swing your sword blindly. Anticipate the enemy's next move," he recalled, even now Legna's great voice echoing in his ears.

But even the greatest of us have our flaws, and when Nowe saw the blood of his comrades - no longer nameless people, but people he himself had helped train, and brought along with him for the battle, even knew their names - all hell broke loose, and he attacked in rage.

As General Gismor had once said: "Keep swinging your sword." Nowe was true to it, lashing out at everything that looked like his enemy. And in himself, he knew he must have killed some of his own side. That sickened him more than anything, knowing he was guilty to killing his own man. Quite personally, he thought it one of the worst crimes a man could commit, killing their loyal friends and comrades for no reason.

Gismor had been one he wished he could forget, but the ex-General was always in his ears, haunting his footsteps, and many a time, he whirled around, sword drawn, only to see no one. Perhaps it was because Gismor was right. Power it seemed, was all that mattered. Although, Nowe smiled to himself, Gismor would have been shocked to realise Nowe followed his advice.

Perhaps the Nameless and the Holy Dragons never truly died. Perhaps, with what power they had left, they took over the feeble minds of the people, and used them as their last revenge against humans. Yes, that may be it. But it also meant the people did, in their deepest of desires, want revenge. They were not without fault either.

Humans, the species that both sides had overlooked. Both had believed that the only creatures that could matter in this war were each other, and the "New Breed", the weapon that would guarantee the victory of the side he chose. The Gods thought humans their playthings, and the Dragons simply thought them incapable, stupid beings.

Neither predicted Nowe would choose humankind. The Nameless had believed Nowe would refuse to join the Dragons due to the bonds he made with Manah, Seere and Eris, and would not see any die. The Holy Dragons believed Nowe would join them as Legna had raised him, and after all, he was Half-Dragon, and he would not wish to see Eris become the Goddess.

Yet the sight of seeing his friends in danger had not convinced Nowe to join either. He was true to his word, and remained human, and he knew that humans were the future. But now, he would have to rephrase that. He was all that was left of a broken world. The Knights, after once numbering well over thousands, now were most likely less than a few hundred. The only sane citizens that were not Knights were at the Grand Shrine, guarded by Knights. And of them was little as well.

The battles were long and tedious, Nowe constantly fighting at the front lines, the sight of him marching, his sword in hand, was enough to send fear into even the mad warriors that stood against him. Not fear for themselves of course, fear that they could not kill anymore.

His sword in hand...Nowe had spent many a day, learning how to use a weapon to its maximum potential. However, where he was unbreakable, the weapons were not, and he had six swords left, including his old Knights Longsword that General Oror - also known as Iron Dragon of the Two Swords- gave him many years ago. On his first battle he had froze, transfixed from the terror, where Oror had calmed and commanded him, telling him:

"The sword takes life, but it also saves the lives of your friends. What matters is the will of the one who holds the sword."

Wise words. Seere had once told Nowe, that Caim preferred taking lives to saving them. Nowe had been repulsed, but now, he could sympathise, being in such a similar state. Sometimes he even felt he _was_ Caim, as his hatred boiled in his body. In fact, Caim seemed to be the only person he could compare himself to. Not Oror, not Urick, not Legna, but the One-Eyed Man himself.

Another weapon was an old sword, hardly very powerful, but the sentimental value it held was far greater. It had belonged to his father and mentor Oror, and his mentor before him. Oror had given it to Legna, as a token of his pledge to care for Nowe. Legna, being a dragon, sneered at the foolish human gesture, and left the sword in his lair, where Nowe picked it up many years later, when Gismor arrived to ambush him, where he saved Manah.

The next weapon had belonged to the man called Inuart. Nowe had several suspicions regarding this man, and the first was that Inuart was his father- in fact, Seere had remarked that the two looked similar, especially the hair. The next suspicion was that Inuart's pact was with Legna, something which had surprised him, for if that was true, that had meant Inuart had been alive all these years. In fact, it could explain many things. Legna often heard Caim's thoughts- or more precisely, a form of speaking with their mind, something all pact-partners could do. Although, that could not explain why Legna had joined the Empire, when he, a Holy Dragon, would never have joined the Nameless.

Perhaps Legna had been forced to do so, and as a punishment and to atone, he was to care for Nowe. Nowe did not like to dwell on why Legna cared for him, because he still valued the great dragon, and yet also feared Legna had never truly cared for him. What had given him hope was Legna's last words, words that still echoed in his head, words, despite his new bloodthirsty rages, were true. "You are a sentimental fool...just like your father..."

And Nowe knew, that could be applied to any of his fathers, or even all of them-of course, if Inuart was his father. Inuart's love, as the records stated, had corrupted him. Oror had been killed, due to his trust in Gismor and Hanch. And Legna...perhaps Legna even meant himself.

Thinking of it, Legna would only call himself a fool on his deathbed.

Those three blades were worn and battered, not like the three other blades Nowe carried, the ones he greatly adored.

The Two Swords of the Iron Dragon, the Falconblade and the Lionblade. He was capable of wielding one per hand, rather like Oror had done himself.

The last blade was the great longsword that Caim carried. Surprisingly, this was perhaps Nowe's favourite longsword, despite the blood that stained it, which he knew included Oror and Urick, his father and brother in all ways save blood.

These weapons had served him well in his endless torrent of battle. From the beginning, he had known, that Seere, Eris, Manah and he were not enough even with an army, as the lost of the guardians had hit the Knights hard, as well as the constant battles they had once with Nowe, which resulted in thousands of brave knights dying because of the fool of a General.

So Seere had searched for the old warriors of the Union, in particular, the remainder of the group that fought with him. Caim, and Verdelect were dead, but he could still look for the other two, Leonart and Arioch.

And eventually he and Nowe found them, living a life of solitude, in self-exile. Leonart had intended to live alone till he finally could die, but consented to taking Arioch with him, knowing he could restrain her in the case of one of her mad habits.

Eighteen years had passed for them, with no knowledge of the outside world, and Leonart was as mild-mannered as ever, and had mourned the loss of his friends, after hearing what had happened over the time he had been gone. Arioch was harder to reason with, despite her madness diminishing slightly, perhaps due to the influence of the calming Leonart.

However, the two were reluctant to join the army, eventually agreeing on the condition that Nowe should find their old weapons, confident he would fail. They did not expect Nowe to have found them long ago, the Tower of Warning, the spear that he had given to Eris, and the Mourning Thorn, the axe that he had given to Urick prior to his death.

And so with these new allies, Nowe began to fight back against the insane people. But battles meant that people would die, and Nowe mourned for every Knight that was slain. It was true that there were- or at least, had been, as Nowe had been sure to root them out- corrupt Knights, but Nowe knew that they were all fiercely loyal, and brave, after all, how could they have stood against him, knowing it was unlikely they would live, and yet few betrayed their leaders. The only betrayers he could remember, had joined him, back in the District of Precious Light. He had met the two again, and rewarded them. That was for naught, as only one was still alive.

After the first few battles, Nowe created a great wall, made of black marble, where the names of all the dead Knights were carved into, so the people of the future would forever remember their sacrifice.

But out of his close friends, Manah was the first to die. Nowe remembered standing over her broken body, his head in his hands, while Seere stood beside him, trembling, tears flowing freely.

The bastards had shown exactly what their true intentions for their "Lady" Manah had been. Her body lay naked, partly covered by mud and blood, violated.

Nowe remembered that day, and the days that followed. His endless cries, his fits of anger, his bouts of madness. They had taken Manah, perhaps his best friend away from him. And Manah lay there, not even her incredible magic skills saving her, her stave cracked into two. He had loved her, and she was gone. And her red eyes were open, her face twisted into one of pain and pleading.

Nowe could picture her last words, her cries as she called for him to aid her, to save her from her torment. And he -the fool that he was- had not come from her. He blamed himself entirely.

Seere, enraged, had become incredibly dangerous. He cast aside his Hierarch robes, before arming himself in black armour- that eerily reminded Nowe of Gismor's armour- and wearing a golden mask, throwing himself into battles with Golem, almost as terrifying as Nowe.

Eris had also befriended Manah, despite the former's attempts to kill the latter. They had almost become best friends, something that would never happen now, and Eris too, was infuriated by the pain and death they had given to Manah.

Nowe had tried his best to control his emotion, but the task was too much, and he charged forward, his Dragon power unleashed upon them, and he eradicated the entire force, his blade flying through the air, and blood would always cover the ground where he walked. The stench of death followed him, and what was left of their corpses were fragments of flesh and bone.

He didn't even smell alive anymore. He smelled of blood and metal.

Manah's funeral was small, as was her epitaph. On her grave, a stone monument of her was placed, the form of her, holding her stave, smiling, and the art was both realistic and beautiful. It had rained that day, but Nowe remained by the grave throughout the night, silent, until Eris pulled him away, protesting for him to think of his health. She tried her best to comfort him that night, and eventually, he consented to her.

The next to fall were Arioch and Leonart. Arioch had collapsed to the ground after being caught in an arrow hail, badly wounded, and Leonart had viciously attacked his enemies, all shreds of the gentle man gone, only attempting to protect Arioch, who reinvigorated by Leonart's charge, rose and joined him. But a blow caught Arioch off guard, and she was finally killed, a spear impaling her through the stomach, her eyes looking strangely more alive than they ever had in life. Leonart stood, protecting her body, even when all others had retreated, the great warrior was overcome, at least fifty arrows in his flesh, as well as a spear through his chest, and the slashes from swords and axes covered his body, crimson blood coating each weapon.

His death had been slow, and the beasts had eventually left them. He carved into the ground: "Where this body drops and rots is of no matter. But do not let her decay."

'Did they love each other? Or did Leonart love Arioch? Did he finally want to live again?' was what Nowe had asked himself that day, his eyes resting on their bodies. 'I do not know,' he answered himself, before adding sadly. 'And I will never know.'

Once again, a monument of the two was placed over their graves. Their bodies were almost interlocked, clearly Leonart in his dying moments had held tight to Arioch's corpse, and Nowe had not the heart to separate them, and they were buried together, their monument depicting Leonart peacefully leaning on his spear, while Arioch sat on the base, idly holding her axe, a look of eagerness in her eyes.

And then Seere had died, Golem's broken body scattered around him, while every bone in Seere's small body was cracked, fragments of the bone bursting through the skin, his armour destroyed. The pact had broken at their death, and Seere had seemed to age, and Nowe finally saw his true form. Of course, a resemblance to Manah, but a proud, strong look in his face, that was rarely seen in Manah's face, it being replaced with her determination and hope. His monument featured three beings, the Golem, the young form -he had spent most his life as- sitting peacefully at the feet of the older form, the same expression on his face that Nowe had seen on his corpse.

And today, Eris had been killed as well, a sword through the stomach, leaving a gaping hole large enough to see through. And this was one sword-wound she could not recover from. Her face had been peaceful, and she looked more asleep than dead. The goddess had died, her hair loose and unkempt, her white robes painted red.

'Not Eris too!' he had desperately thought. 'Eris! Not you as well! Please! Don't leave me alone! I need you!'

But as it became clear Eris was dead, his rage had controlled him again, and he tore through the enemy ranks, until the battlefield was quite empty. He loved her, and like Manah, she also was killed.

And now Nowe stood alone, what few Knights left some distance behind him.

Heavy hooves sound behind him, and Nowe whirls around, to see a Knight on horseback approach. He recognises him- it the remaining Knight who defected to him in the District of Precious Light all those years ago.

"Milord! There are one thousand more of the barbarians approaching!" he called. "Shall we retreat to the Grand Shrine!?"

"How many more are left of them in total, and how many Knights remain?" asked Nowe, power and authority in his voice.

"These are all the barbarians left alive, and there are only fifty Knights left on the battlefield," replied the Knight. "One hundred more Knights guard the Grand Shrine and the inhabitants."

The inhabitants were all the people left who were not Knights and were not insane. They included ordinary citizens, as well as the merchants who had supplied the Knights.

"Give orders to retreat to the Grand Shrine," commanded Nowe, turning away from the Knight.

"Understood milord. Shall I fetch you a horse?"

Nowe stood silent, before his answer crashed down on the Knight's ears. "That won't be necessary. I won't be going anywhere."

The Knight's eyes widened, and his face took on an expression of great shock. "Mi-Milord! Surely you do not intend to fight on your own?! This world needs you!"

"Yes...yes, it needs me," said Nowe. "It needs me to end this. Farewell."

Nowe removes all his swords, save Caim's Sword. "I have often spoken of the stories that surround these weapons. Do not let them be destroyed."

He summons the rest of the Knights, and he bade them take the bodies, in particular Eris. "Write her epitaph for me, and create her monument. Let none forget this woman who was willing to give herself as a Goddess of the Seal, and even then, always stood alongside the Knights."

They leave, and Nowe is once again alone. He begins to prepare. He firmly secures the steel armour that covers his arms, the pauldrons of the shoulders, the vambraces on the arms, and the one gauntlet he wore on his right hand. He attaches the buckler, the small shield to his left arm, so he can both wield a shield and the two-handed longsword. Finally, he places the helm on his head, (a dragon design, his tribute to Legna) and draws the longsword, its red blade gleaming in the sunlight.

Hours may have passed, but for Nowe, it was only minutes, before he noticed the stones started to rattle, and the sounds of heavy feet marching approaches.

He stands alone, on a small mound, his eyes burning into the enemy, a fierce expression upon his face, Caim's blade lodged in the ground.

The mad ones pause, and stare back at him. For once, just this once, Nowe can see it. He can see their faces, what was left of their cursed souls.

And then it goes, and they once again become a great beast with many bodies, no mind, claws and fangs of swords and spears.

But Nowe saw human there, and cannot resist, hoping for some shred of humanity in them.

"You have committed great crimes!" His voice rings out over the plains, and the creatures pause again, confused. "By the power vested in me as the Hierarch and General of the Knights, I command you to surrender!"

The plains are once again silent.

Suddenly one stamps his feet and bellows inaudibly in a language Nowe cannot understand. They all bellow with him, and Nowe can see the monsters with them, and those within him. They appear small, but he cannot find words to describe them, save they have grotesque faces, faces of evil. Hatred and anger build up in him, and he feels a great urge to kill them.

And then Nowe realises. They are far gone.

Nowe pulls the sword out of the ground, and raises it far over his head. He suddenly roars, a Dragon roar, and they shake, and Nowe swings the sword down, his magic bursting through the sword in the form of a Blazing Fang fireball, and it blasts through the rabble of a thousand.

They shout and scream, and charge, the behemoths and minotaurs cutting through them to reach Nowe first, while the slow ogres bring up the rear.

Nowe roars and again, and flies forth, meeting a minotaur.

It swings a log down, intent on crushing Nowe, but it meets the red blade and is cut into two. The next second, the red blade is through the minotaur's throat, and Nowe withdraws the sword, watching the dark blood gush out as the creature falls onto its back with a gurgle, and dies.

"Go back to hell, hyenas!" Nowe leaps through the air, slashing a behemoth across its face, and then jumping away, avoiding the behemoth's charge, and it cannons into another. He whirls around, his blade meeting a minotaur charging him, and it collapses onto the ground.

The madmen have reached him, and Nowe spins to parry a blow with his buckler, before making a wide slash at the people, beheading five with one blow.

"Rats! You shall feed the ravens!" He performs a White Serpent Blade, eradicating even more, before immediately performing two Cyclone Dances.

They charge at him again, and he breaks out of the circle, before turning to face them again and sending two more fireballs at them. A minotaur reaches him, but is impaled with the might of a Hypersonic Blast. He then sends a Crouching Wolf blast at the rest who are charging, and once again finds himself surrounded, fighting as well as he can. A knife goes into his back.

He roars, and spins around, the red blade cutting through a stomach. A spear is impaled through his body, and then several swords and axes follow.

Nowe howls and crumples to the ground, before leaping up, his Cyclone Dance swiftly countering the creatures. For a moment time goes slow, and he sees blood rise into the air, almost spinning, before it falls onto the ground.

More charge at him, and he spins the sword in the air before tearing through another wave. The goblin shamans flee from him, dropping their explosives behind him. Nowe smirks, and bats the lot away with a single strike, before stooping and covering himself with the buckler, as fire and body-parts fly past him. He is then cast through the air, a minotaur colliding with his back, and he coughs blood, before landing in a heap, still.

They approach, stumbling, staggering, fell grins upon their faces. If an outsider was to watch, they would not see Nowe, but the beasts massing around something on the ground.

Nowe waits and waits, until he senses one less than a metre away. A smile appears on his face, and his eyes flick open, as a white aura begins to form around him...

And suddenly, they fly back, and Nowe stands in the centre, his head turned,a hand resting on the hilt of the red sword, before his grin grows, and his teeth are visible in an almost crazed smile, and he raises the sword again.

He is called Nowe Half-Dragon for a reason.

His hair turns white, his eyes turn a most pale blue, the pupils forming slits. Unknownst to the beasts, a crest appears on his chest, and a white symbol appears on his back, before fading away. He did not intend to fly away today, and he fights on.

He has done now all he can. For he is only holding onto time.

Nowe swung the sword again through the air, and more are felled, but they are immediately replaced by the twice the number. A minotaur rushes him, and he charges it. He suddenly chokes, as it impales its horn through his stomach. He coughs blood, before he roared and stabbed the longsword through the beast's head.

His vision suddenly starts darkening, and he cannot even feel the blows that land upon him.

'Am I dying?' he asks himself. 'My time is...up?'

He still slashes out, and still kills, but his body does it on its own, his own instinct, while his mind remains in a world of its own.

'There are still so many to fight... was my death...worthless?' He asked himself, not even noticing whether he is alive or dead. His eyes close, and suddenly, so many faces swim into his mind's eye. Familiar faces.

'No. Not yet. I will not die yet!' Out of sheer willpower, his wounds stop bleeding, his sight returns, and his mind is once again united with his body.

'Friends...no, not mere friends. You were my family. I loved you. I could not protect you, and I lost you. Now...today, I will see whether I am sentenced to death, or to live on while you are gone.'

* * *

Several hours later, a Knight stands on the walls of the Grand Shrine, awaiting either Nowe, or the messenger bearing his sword and body. 

Suddenly, a shape catches his vision on the horizon, and he tries to focus as well as possible on the shape. He immediately notices Caim's sword, but cannot distinguish if the person is carrying a body or not...

The person collapses, and does not get up. He cannot tell whether they have died, or they are exhausted from carrying the heavy sword.

* * *

With the death of the insane beasts–and they were always sure that it was due to the Nameless and Holy Dragon's attempt for revenge- the world after many long years, began to become the happy place they had always wished it would be. 

Admittedly, monsters still existed, but there is always bad news with good news.

And at the Grand Shrine, a leading member of the Knights was giving a tour to the recruits, despite his status.

"And there, is the Great Monument Wall, where every Knight who died since the beginning of the Knight/Barbarian War has had their name carved. The only Knights who were exempt from this rule is one of our former Generals, Oror, also known as the Iron Dragon of the Two Swords, and a powerful Knight named Urick, who was the partner of the Reaper and the Guardian of the District of Shining Life. We have even added other particular individuals, including Caim of the One Eye."

"Say, Captain," said one of the recruits. "Why are those swords there?"

The Captain turned to where the recruit was pointing, and saw the hill some distance away from the Grand Shrine, six blades lodged in the ground, three swords, and three longswords. The hill was near blue-grey mountains, and it overlooked the sea, endless grass pastures at its base.

"Ah, now my young recruits, that makes for a fantastic story," grinned the Captain, running his hand through his long hair, and his blue eyes seem to become brighter. "Two stories in fact. Everyone, sit down, and I'll tell you these stories, of the finest heroes who have ever walked this land."

The sun shines on the captain and his recruits as he begins his story, and the six blades shimmer.

They shimmer, and the Captain's eyes sparkle as he narrates the tale, beginning long ago, when Caim rushed to the Castle as he saw the flag burn...

* * *

The hill and pastures are based on the scenes from one of the FMVs, where you see Nowe's Sword lodged in the hill in a blatent FFVII rip-off, before seeing him and Manah in the grass fields. 

Whether Nowe lived? Your decision. Did he die valiantly to join his friends and family in death, or did he live on for their sakes? If you find it hard to believe Nowe could have lived, it's actually a fifty-fifty chance. Confused? Read over the physical description of the Captain. Hmm...he also seems to have incredible knowledge about the history of the world as well.

LightningHunter.


End file.
